Normal
by Kermitfries
Summary: One shots, basically. Love, sex, pain, violence, scandal, death. Life.
1. Forever

**A/N: **It has been done before and it does seem to be popular -- but this is my series of one shots, merely because I get ideas I can't turn into stories, and I want an outlet for that. This first chapter came to me when I was watching Tru Calling and the Sarah Connor chronicles (first chapter I've ever written in one go too). I don't know why, but I felt this impending sadness.

**Disclaimer**: I don't own Covenant. I do not profit from this.

**Warning**: There will be sex chapters. There will be explicit cussing and violence and maybe even death….I don't know. So in this warning -- I'm just gonna warn you of all the warped ideas spiraling along in my head. This chapter is merely depressing, that's all. And until my chapters grow more intense -- the rating will be T.

**Pairing**: Caleb/Reid

--

Reid grunted, turning over in bed. The blankets were heavy and itchy, pressing down on him. His hand splayed out and curled around his ribs protectively. He burrowed deeper into the blankets because he was still cold, he still couldn't stop shivering. And every time his body tensed he felt like crying. The continuous shaking was only making the sharp pain in his ribs sharper. He grunted again, tucking his chin down into his chest and clenching his teeth apprehensively.

A hand, smooth and cool, pressed against his head and he jerked. But the hand remained, long fingers gently, almost lazily, stroking his forehead, idly threading through his sweaty blonde hair. The blanket shifted around him and the bed dipped slightly as a body curled against his back. An arm enveloped him and gently pulled him closer against the body. This body felt warm and Reid leaned into it. The hand buried itself in his hair and softly massaged his scalp.

The words, soft and inhumanly calm, melted together to form a comforting noise. The breath was hot against his ear but he liked it. He relaxed beneath the touch, forced himself to relax into the gentle embrace. Force his jaw to unclench and his fists to uncurl. "I'm dying." The words were soft, but his voice shook; it sounded dry, hoarse from disuse and laced thoroughly with barely suppressed pain.

"No," Caleb said behind him. The older boy pressed closer against Reid's back. "You're not. Everything's fine." But his voice broke on the last word. "You're fine," he amended. Slender fingers brushed against the pale face, "It was just an accident, Reid. Just a really bad accident. But it's okay. Because I'm here, and you're here, and you can get better from this." He pursed his lips and brushed them against Reid's neck. "You can get better," he repeated, his voice softer. Broken.

"No," Reid mumbled, tilting his head back against Caleb's chest. "I can't, Caleb. I'm sorry. I let you down."

"No," Caleb murmured, his mouth dangerously close to Reid's ear. "No, you didn't. You never….you never let me down. Never, Reid."

"But we were going so well," Reid mumbled, shifting against Caleb's chest. "And then I died. I know what happened Caleb. You need to stop blaming yourself. You need to stop all of it and start living again. I don't want your death to be on my hands…"

"I can't." Caleb's voice sounded dangerously close to a whine, quiet and broken, tight with barely restrained tears. "I can't…not without…I miss you so much…"

"I know," Reid whispered back. "But they need you, Caleb. The covenant. Quit killing yourself for me…"

"I can't forget you," Caleb hissed, his lips pressed hard against Reid's neck.

"You better not," Reid agreed. "If they lose you, they lose half their covenant. You have to be strong for them, Caleb. You'll always have to be strong for them. I never saw that before. I thought you were controlling, but you always had to be strong. Somebody else. Somebody you didn't want to be, just because you wanted to save us from your misery. _I see it now_."

Caleb's arms tightened around Reid's waist. Reid felt the tears against the back of his neck but Caleb's sob was quiet, repressed. "I'm sorry."

"Don't say that," Caleb cried against Reid's skin. "Don't apologize. I never -- I never fucking blamed you, Reid. I want it back .I want _you _back."

Reid shifted against Caleb's chest, and rolled over to face him. The pain that had been consuming him so completely just seconds before simply vanished. It always vanished at those four words. "You have me," he mumbled. "I'm always here, Cay." Reid's hand was cold against Caleb's chest, even beneath the blanket and through his t-shirt. Caleb shivered. "I'll never leave you. I promise."

The door to Reid's dorm swung open and Caleb jumped. "Sorry, Cay," a somber voice mumbled. "I forgot my chemistry book." Tyler shuffled across the room and quietly rummaged through a mess of papers and books on top of his desk. "Are you coming to class today, Cay?" He asked gently, turning away from his desk to gaze intently at Caleb. The older boy was curled up in Reid's bed, like he'd been all week, his body curved around an invisible force.

Caleb licked his lips tentatively. He didn't want to leave the bed, or the room. It'd been three weeks and he still didn't want to face anybody. He still didn't want to move on because he feared the visions would stop. They made him sad all over again, but he didn't want to stop seeing Reid. He didn't want to forget. "Yes," he answered after a long moment of deliberation. "Just give me a minute to get dressed, Ty. I'll meet you in chemistry."

The smile tried to turn up Tyler's lips but his impending sorrow forced it back down. He clutched his chemistry book in his hand and nodded slowly. "Okay. He would want you to move on, Cay," he murmured. The covenant had already stopped using Reid's name.

"I know," Caleb agreed. He reached a hand forward, beneath the blanket, but all he found was the empty air. Reid was already gone. "That's why I'm doing this." _He forgives me._


	2. Smile

**Pairing**: Caleb/Reid

**Warning**: Just language.

Caleb always smiles at him. He used to do that when we were younger and he tried to encourage Tyler to participate in the group. Tyler was always quiet though, and didn't do anything unless you forced him to. Half the time, we knew he wanted it. But the other half…

Caleb always smiles at him now. Like he's got something to be proud of. Like he raised Tyler himself and all the smart shit coming from his mouth is Caleb's own doing. He didn't do shit to Tyler. He didn't encourage him to do shit, not nearly as much as he wanted to believe. He didn't include Tyler, not like he thinks he did. He never made the boy feel at ease, feel wanted. Tyler isn't who he is because of how Caleb treated him. But he's smart, and that's what Caleb secretly yearns for. Somebody else -- just as smart. He wants those deep, passionate conversations about all the smart shit he's interested in. Tyler can have those conversations, or so Caleb assumes. Only I know whether or not that's true. Because Tyler talks more to me than he ever would to Caleb. He doesn't trust Caleb. Because he's smart.

If Tyler's so smart, how come he can't see the way Caleb stares at him, like a fucking vulture? Or the stupid compliments he gives without prompt. Or how he's always fucking smiling at him. He can't get what he wants, so he settles. He takes second best, which isn't smart. Me, I mean. His prize isn't as smart as he wants. He can't have meaningful conversations, in fact he can't even have a substantial relationship. All he can afford to do is relieve his stress and frustrations and he doesn't care how. He doesn't care if it's sex or if it's a fucking beating. So long as his guilt and his pain and his stupid problems go away for a few hours. He doesn't care who he hurts, or how broken he leaves them. Because they won't ever be Tyler.


	3. Need

**A/N: **I take requests. In fact I encourage you to make requests, because they'd be an awfully interesting challenge. I've never written for anybody else before. Just my own twisted thoughts. In the future, there will be different pairings. But all my previous pairings have been Reid and Tyler, while secretly I liked reading Reid and Caleb. Just couldn't make a story out of them -- so this is me catching up on all the Reid and Caleb I've ignored. And this chapter portrays the relationship I was gonna give Reid and Caleb in 'just a flesh wound' but I'm not sure if I'm gonna now. So please -- REVIEW -- and tell me what you want.

**Pairing**: Caleb/Reid -- continuation of **smile**.

**Warning**: Sex. Violence. Longing.

Reid recoiled sharply when Caleb landed his first blow, right against the blonde's ribs. His back hit the wall hard and he ducked Caleb's swinging fist. Swiftly maneuvering himself away from Caleb, he spun around to cover his exposed back. Caleb needed this, he knew. The brunette was wound up so tightly that if he didn't find some way to relieve the tension, he'd probably implode. It was Reid who had initiated it. That first punch. But it was Caleb who kept coming back, every time he got too pissed to deal with things on his own. Reid fought back, but it was painfully clear who was always the victor.

Reid was quick, swift on his feet. But Caleb was stronger, and always managed to pin the younger boy, no matter how adamant Reid was. The blonde swung out with his left fist. Caleb caught his arm mid air and violently jerked the boy closer. He twisted the arm and shoved Reid chest first into the wall. The boy grunted and shoved against the wall with his free arm but he was trapped. "Stop moving," Caleb grunted from behind him. His voice was hard. He dug a fist into the small of Reid's back and twisted his arm until Reid forced himself to remain still.

"Cay -"

"Don't talk," Caleb hissed. "I win." Reid flinched when he felt the tongue slither across the lobe of his ear and Caleb chuckled darkly. An arm stretched around his waist, a hand splayed across his stomach. Caleb liked his stomach. "Take off your clothes," he decided, stepping away from him. "I want to fuck you."

Reid grimaced. It wasn't ever a question, though he wasn't sure it had ever been. Caleb never proposition him, never asked if maybe he wanted to partake in a sexual act. No, he always demanded it. He wanted sex, and Reid would just have to deal with it. Reid generally wouldn't mind, _sex was his friend_. But Caleb was rough. Not in the kinky, masochistic sort of way either. He was cruel, and he was rough, and he gave Reid more pain than pleasure. But he didn't care. He was horny as fuck.

And yet he still complied. Stiffly, he pulled his shirt off over his head. He didn't have to look down to see the bruise forming along his ribs. He knew he had another one on his back, in the middle of his spine. That proved to be too much for Caleb.

The older boy gripped the pale hips tightly and backed Reid roughly into the wall, attaching his mouth to the white collar bone. Such beautiful skin. His grip tightened on the bony hips. But how he'd love to see Tyler's skin, just how beautiful that skin could be. How he'd love to touch that skin and taste it and hear Tyler make some of the sounds Reid tried to conceal. He gasped quietly as Caleb's grip grew impossibly tight on his hips. Caleb's teeth scraped against his collar bone and bit into his neck. Caleb was only vaguely aware of the body shifting and writhing before him. He could only dimly acknowledge the bony fists shoving against his chest or the pained noises that seemed so far away.

Reid's hands fisted in his hair and twisted it desperately. Secretly, he liked how the bony hands felt in his hair. The blonde was unusually gentle, even after all Caleb had done to him. It was only when Reid thought he was sleeping that he shoved his hand through the brown locks. Only then did he touch the older boy without restraint. He didn't know that Caleb usually wasn't asleep. He didn't know much Caleb liked his touches. Caleb shook his head and jerked away from the younger boy. Blood painted his lips ruby and stained the pale skin of Reid's neck. The bite mark had already turned purple.

He wanted to apologize but that'd disrupt the relationship he'd already created with Reid. Reid wouldn't stop him, no matter what he did to the boy. Caleb could do anything to him and he'd never chase Reid away. The boy would always be there. Caleb's fingers found the button of his jeans. He licked his lips when he knew Reid was watching and leaned in for a kiss. As he knew he would, Reid opened his mouth to the kiss and submissively returned it. His hands flexed in Caleb's hair but held fast and Caleb didn't stop him because he liked Reid touching him.

It was Caleb who shoved away Reid's jeans and led him to the bed. He shoved the blonde down into the mattress and explored his body hungrily, as if maybe he didn't already know it. He knew Reid's body better than he knew his own. He knew what to lick, what to kiss, what to bite, he knew what to do to force those sounds from Reid's mouth. He knew how to torture the boy. Only he could make Reid beg.

The sex wasn't the important part. No, it did manage to relieve his frustration. But it wasn't the important part. The important part was the before and after. It was the after, when he could curl up beneath the blanket, pulling Reid against his chest. He loved the way his body curved around Reid's and the way the boy didn't mind being petted or kissed.

He fucked Reid and then curled up beside him and rode out the high that only sex could give him. He felt so completely content. Reid's quiet breathing was the only noise in the room, it was so slow that Caleb knew the boy must be teetering on the edges of sleep. But Caleb knew he was still awake because his long fingers curled around Caleb's hip, almost possessively. His body was pressed close to Caleb's, his head resting gently on Caleb's outstretched arm. A leg curled around Caleb's and held the two bodies close. This was the part Caleb liked most. Listening to Reid breathe. Caleb shifted slightly, and pressed his lips to Reid's forehead.

This was the part Caleb liked most, but he needed all the other parts too. He needed to make Reid hurt and bleed. He needed to hear him yelp and groan in pain and pleasure. He needed the sex. He needed the control. But above all else, he needed this. He needed contentment. He needed to feel the warmth of Reid's body beside his own, skin pressed flush again skin, trusting. He needed to feel safe enough to tell Reid anything, because he needed to talk. And he needed to know that Reid, however rebellious the boy may seem, would never tell a soul.

He wanted Tyler. But he needed Reid.


	4. Claim

**Pairing**: Reid/Tyler

**Warning**: Talk of child abuse. And this is quite possibility the softest I can go with intentional slash. No kissing or touching or speak of love. Just one action in which manages to convey all that love is. Slash or no slash. And! A rare occurrence -- Tyler POV.

"Ouch." I pause. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I know that if I was really hurting Reid, he wouldn't admit it. By saying 'ouch', not ow or some form of grunt, he's faking it. But then I look at him again. His pale skin, generally white, regardless of how many hours he spends outside, looks stained. Splotches paint him purple and black. His older bruises look abandoned, small and yellow, barely visible, but I'm sure he's unable to forget exactly how he acquired the bruises. Reid can't ever forget. If I was hurting him he'd grunt or flinch away. He wouldn't just tell me, because that's not what Reid does. Reid doesn't tell me shit, even when he comes to me for help -- help he's so very reluctant to ask for. Kind of makes you reconsider the boundaries of your friendship, if your boyfriend can't even count on you.

I've stopped the bleeding. Sewed his face together with my second rate sewing ability. The cut wasn't as deep as it could have been. He said his father threw a unicorn figurine at him and caught him right above the eye. It could've been a whole lot worst. He could've lost his eye or split open his head when he fell. But the cut wasn't deep. We couldn't heal. I can't ever heal, it's not how my Power works. And he was too drained to heal. But you can't heal something that's already begun to heal naturally so…I suggested stitches, because Reid hates scars. He believes that scars are like pictures in a picture book. They tell stories all on their own and you can't ever shut them up. He doesn't want people to know too much about him -- not without his consent. He wants the power and when people know you…it makes it that much more easier for them to learn more -- your weaknesses and your fears.

He was real bloody when he showed up at my apartment. It was the holidays, but I'd already moved out. Who knew the youngest son would be the first to move out? We were just sixteen but my parents…

That doesn't matter. This isn't my story. He showed up at my door, a bloody hand covering his eye and another splayed across his ribs like he had to protect them or something. He did, but he was a little late on that. Because they were already broken. And I don't know how to reset bones. I'm not a doctor. His back wasn't just covered in bruises though. I don't know what his father did, but his back was all cut up. I've read enough to know how to deal with cuts. But I don't know to stop them from scarring. Maybe Reid doesn't scar as easily as he fears.

He hissed and flinched away from me. I didn't move and I waited until he reluctantly returned to his previous position. I'd hurt him. It was just antiseptic cream. "You're moving in with me." I'd been thinking about that a lot lately. But we were only sixteen. I knew his father was rough. My parents talked about him a lot because I was always hanging out with Reid. I wonder if his parents talk as much about mine as mine talk about his. They liked to reminiscence. Only recently did I realize how much Reid mirrors his own father. But he's different. Maybe it's just because I know him. Maybe it's just because he's still a kid. His father's abusive as hell though. If he doesn't get his way…

I know Reid's adamant about shit being done his way, but he gives a little all the time. He doesn't ever force me…not like his father forces his mother - or him -- to do anything. He isn't abusive. Even to Caleb, he shows restraint. I just hope that restraint lasts. Maybe his father showed restraint when he was our age too.

I didn't know his father was **this **abusive. I just thought he was rough. All fathers are rough, aren't they? At least those married to women…

"James won't --"

I couldn't hear him. I absolutely refused to. When we were younger, he couldn't give a shit about his father. It wasn't until he stopped calling James dad and started calling him James that I noticed the distinct change. It was like James was a different person. Not a father but some sort of nemesis. The antagonist of the story. The bad guy. "I'm not asking." Wasn't exactly the way I'd meant to propose my idea. Maybe Reid hadn't ever been abusive because he never needed to. I wasn't ever exactly controlling. If he wanted to do something, I'd never really needed to stop him. I'd never disagreed with his actions enough to stop him…

Reid remained silent as I slowly dabbed at the cuts littering his back with a cotton ball of antiseptic cream. "You really don't mind, baby boy?" I shouldn't hate that voice. How soft he'd become. I should've realized it sooner. How much softer he'd become in general. I should have known. I should have given him an out way before this. Way before he'd been scarred -- emotionally. But I didn't see.

"You spend half your holidays here anyway," I told him dismissively. But living is different. I know that. Because Reid still lived in dorms, while I had moved out. Because it was a necessary step in emancipating myself from my parents. I had to live on my own, without them. He didn't live with me. Living is different. I heard him lick his lips slowly as I prepared a bandage for a particularly deep cut.

"Living is different," he murmured. Huh. It's not like we didn't say some of the same things; we did -- sometimes at the same time. We had the same thoughts and did a lot of the same things. That's why we were friends, isn't it? Because we're similar. Not identical but enough alike as to suggest liking. We were different. Everybody was different, right? But just different enough to counteract each other. Like Peanut Butter and Jelly…

It's just…this wasn't a Reid thing for him to say. And that made me sad.

"Yes, I know," I murmured, gently applying the bandage. "I understand that this covenant is interlinked, Reid. All the surviving members must participate and interact. But I won't ever leave you alone with him again. You've given him too many chances. Chances to change. He's ignored them all and he doesn't deserve any more. And even if he were to, I don't think I'd give him anymore. You're mine, Reid Garwin. He's forfeit his claim to you."

"I'm not an object, Tyler," Reid mumbled. He shifted uncomfortably as I pressed another bandage to his back. I could hear the smile in his voice.

"All things in this world are objects, Reid," I said, slowly smoothing out the bandage. We're all just grey matter, at disposal if our counterparts see fit. _All objects are subject to manipulation_. "Do you want to live with me?" There you go. Ask him the question before demanding it. Let him think he's got a choice. Because he doesn't. I don't think I'll be able to let him go back home to James Garwin. I've let that man abuse him for years and the very thought makes me sick with myself.

"Yes."


	5. Hope

Awayforlunch makes me giggle. Sadomachism is hot…

So I got this story about an hour ago. It goes along with seeing someone in so much pain that they can't sit still, and they can't make it stop, and they don't know what to do.

Pairing: Caleb/Reid

PS - I will work Pogue into one of these, I just need some more ideas that fit him. Thanks for the reviews too J

--

Two weeks. It'd been two weeks since his ascension and the pain hadn't lessened. In the beginning he could shoulder it, push it to the back of his mind until it was nothing more than a dull ache. But he could ignore it and function. It was like his body was being stretched to accommodate something he wasn't quite sure he wanted. More power. But he had no choice. His body was being raped over and over again every day and the longer the rape continued, the worst the pain became. Two weeks.

Caleb shivered violently, moaning softly as the ache sung loudly in his stiff bones. He curled in further on himself beneath the thick blanket. He couldn't function anymore. No, he'd stopped trying four days ago. He just stopped. Stopped talking to people and going to school, stopped leaving his room and eating. Stopped showering and looking after his mother. The pain just made him stop. He supposed he knew he was dying. He could distinguish the soft ache in the pit of his stomach and hear the grind of his empty stomach. He could smell himself and feel the grime laced deep within his hair. He'd stripped down to his boxers four days ago, and he still felt suffocatingly hot. It was killing him, he knew it.

He almost missed the soft, hesitant knock at his door. He knew it wasn't his mother. She hadn't spoken a single word to him in a week, because that's when he stopped talking to her; putting up with her gave him a headache and just made everything worst. The door swung open and he dimly heard something move, someone pad across his room. He knew who it was even before he saw the mop of blonde hair.

"Cay?" His voice sounded different. Had it really been that long? A hand reached out and Caleb instinctively recoiled. He had to remind himself that the pain was trapped within his body. Touching wouldn't hurt him. Nothing could hurt him more than he already was. He relaxed almost simultaneously and leaned into the patiently waiting hand. Reid's skin was warmer than he remembered. "Jesus Christ, Caleb. Why didn't you call one of us?"

"Nothing," he croaked against the soft skin of Reid's hand. "You could do. Nothing." He learned that two weeks ago when the pain developed. There was nothing any them could do. Involving them wouldn't help anyone, only trouble them and that's the last thing Caleb wanted.

"Caleb," Reid murmured sadly. Yes, that was the perfect word to describe the voice Caleb hadn't heard in a week. He had grown up with a persistent blonde, but the blonde's voice had always been somewhat joyful, even when he was being spiteful. The joy was gone now and Caleb had missed it. He didn't know when it had died. He hadn't noticed, until he saw the younger boy kneeling beside his bed, his hand soft against his cheek. The boy looked different too. He looked different and he sounded different. But Caleb didn't want to believe it. He didn't want to even conceive of such a notion. Could his condition really have changed Reid Garwin?

"You should of told me," Reid muttered but his voice was weak and his words lacked bite. Caleb opened his mouth but for what? What could he have done. A particularly violent shudder tore the words from his mouth and they instantly dissolved. He couldn't say anything. He couldn't think. Reid recoiled and Caleb wanted to reach for him but couldn't. Moving hurt. "I should have noticed," the blonde concluded. Any other day, Caleb would have done one of two things. He would have either dismissed the blonde's guilt as ludicrous and told him it wasn't his fault. Or he would have said 'damn right, you should have noticed'. The two statements didn't seem very appealing anymore. He didn't want to exchange words, it all just seemed so insignificant. Words. He didn't want to talk anymore and he didn't want the blonde to express his guilt quite so loudly anymore.

Instead, Caleb shifted, painstakingly slow, and threw a heavy arm forward. His grasp on Reid's arm shocked the boy and he nearly pulled away. And then Caleb was pulling him forward, gently, weakly and Reid let him because he knew he wouldn't have been able to stop the older boy even if he had wanted to, no matter how weak he was. He crawled into the bed and into Caleb's arms and curled up against the broad chest of the older boy He smelt bad and he was all sweaty but this was the touch that Reid had painfully missed and he'd be damned if he were to complain. Caleb's arms around him were weak but tight nonetheless. The boy was inadvertently relieving the stress of his mounting pain on Reid but the younger boy didn't seem to mind. Because it didn't hurt. It felt amazing. To be held so tightly against the brunette's body. It felt amazing.

A sweaty, hot hand, found Reid's hair and gripped it tightly. The hair curled around his thick fingers, soft, clean. Caleb vaguely realized that he smelt nice. His mother's shampoo, Caleb supposed. He couldn't care enough to ask why the boy wasn't showering at the dorms. Instead, he remained content with just cradling Reid's head. Holding the head against his trembling chest and forcing himself to try to keep his body that much more still. He was content just holding Reid. The pain could remain, so long as he never had to let the blonde go. So long as they could just coexist and yet remain as one entity. Together.

Reid's hand, warmer beneath the blanket wound around Caleb's waist and slid beneath the back of his shirt. But for the first time, there wasn't anything sexual about the movement. Just the urge to be closer, to be pressed flesh against flesh. He didn't mind the thick layer of sweat much. He tried to ignore the consistent tremors rippling through Caleb's frame. His withering away frame. "Jesus Christ, Cay," Reid muttered against his sweaty chest. "You're fucking dying."

The laugh tore from Caleb's throat and he grimaced. It hurt. "I try not to," he muttered into the blonde locks. "Seems to be something I can't help."

Reid's hand shifted against his ribs, almost as if he were petting him. "Shit, Caleb. What do you we do? How do we make it stop?"

"I can't. I've tried," Caleb croaked. "**I** can't."

"But Gorman --"

"He's busy," Caleb interrupted, his weak croak drowning out Reid's more insistent voice.

"Too fucking bad," Reid snapped, jerking his head up to stare at the older boy. "Somebody has to know. This is fucking ridiculous. He's gonna participate." His voice dropped abruptly as he muttered every cuss word he knew regardless of whether they applied to the old man or not. Reid Garwin was frustrated as fuck.

A thumb brushed across the back of the pale neck and Caleb's lips twitched against the crown of his head. "That's a load off my back. Reid Garwin's on the case."

Reid's head jerked up and he pressed his lips firmly against Caleb's sweat soaked neck. "You smell like shit, Cay," he complained in mock disapproval. "I'm gonna give you a shower tomorrow. And I'm gonna feed you, even if I have to shove the food down your throat. I don't go for that manorexia bullshit."

"Okay," Caleb sighed. His grip tightened on Reid as his body shook with a sudden rush of pain. The pain had no beginning, no point at which it started. It didn't end. It just expanded his entire frame and he didn't know where to comfort first. Instead he grasp onto Reid as if he were drowning and Reid were his only life boat. His safety jacket in a hurricane. He crushed the pale body against his chest and swallowed the rising cries of agony. 

"I'll fix you, Cay," Reid murmured against his ear. His voice had changed again. An octave higher, distorted and thick. Caleb couldn't see his face. He couldn't see the tears blurring his vision. "I promise."

"I trust you," Caleb muttered. And he did. He really believed the blonde. He really believed something would happen; change. He wanted to believe it, that someone else, not him, some outside force would reach out and drag him out of this dark pit. He wanted to believe that somebody else would fix his problems and his messes. He believed Reid would do that and his grip on the boy tightened that much more. Because he was gripping hope right there. He was gripping it hard and refusing to let it go. Because without it, he was sure he would die.


	6. LUST

A/N: I wrote this a while ago in a notebook - or half of it, anyway. It didn't start out as a covenant fic (which is why I don't use names until the third paragraph) yet inevitably all I saw was Reid and Tyler.

Pairing -- Reid/Tyler.

Warning. SEX! There's hints of abuse. And blind trust. And, I'm trying to diversify my yaoi. But it's always been either -- SEX! Or angst ridden half rape submissive SEX! (guess which one this story is) I want to be able to write something more than that. I want to learn to write sex that doesn't even need intercourse. Sounds impossible right? But we'll see about that…

As I'm sure you've notice already -- sadomachism is a big theme for me. I'm trying to change (not completely…because I like _writing _rough SEX!), but I haven't changed yet, so enjoy it. And review!

---

I am not your savior

I am just as fucked as you

It had always been he who made the first move. He wasn't ever afraid of rejection. The word didn't even exist to him. A lot of words seemed to be absent from his considerably short vocabulary. Words like 'no' and 'don't.' Whole sentences continuously fell on deliberately deaf ears. 'I don't want to.' 'This isn't right.' 'That hurts'.

He knew he was attractive. He knew what they wanted and he coyly manipulated them to achieve what he wanted. Sex. Fame. Status. Empty desires carving a bigger hole into his chest until nothing else remained. Even in the 90 degree weather of summer, he still felt chilled to the bone. Cold. Unresponsive. Disconnected.

They'd been friends since elementary school. Stupid loyalty born out of isolation and need. Tyler remained loyal to him even though they both believed he wouldn't have returned the gesture. But he did. Always defending Tyler and including him. Asking his opinion, as if it would ever matter.

Tyler didn't refuse him every time he moved toward him; he couldn't look away or shake his head at Reid's atrocious advances because regardless of how adamantly he denied it, he wanted this too. Tyler wanted to feel Reid's hands grasp his thighs, even if it was hard enough to leave bruises. He liked the warmth Reid's hands radiated; he liked the way Reid's hot breath caressed his neck, how his mouth always hovered a half second, as if Reid were overwhelmed. But he couldn't be, because that word also didn't exist to him. His hands moved achingly slow, but his mouth didn't.

It's a game. It'd always been a game for him; with Tyler and all his other conquests. Tyler was supposed to shatter first; Reid wanted him to beg for it. Reid wanted to hear his voice shake and crack as Tyler pled for his touch, his kiss. Tyler wasn't a conquest, though. He wasn't going to beg. And the need for Reid's touch burned bright within him. Savagely painful.

Reid knew this. Tyler squeezed his eyes shut but the desire only screamed louder. His half hearted pleas to be left alone melted into an irritated gasp. Reid's chuckle, condescending, echoed in his head. Reid dragged his hands up, catching and pulling Tyler's shirt up. His nails left angry red marks across bronze ribs. Hands glided across his burning stomach, lingering if only for a second, before pulling his shirt off over his head. Reid's breath was hot, scolding against his neck. But he liked it there. Reid's knees were digging into his sides, but he liked them there. Hesitantly, he liked Reid so fucking close - close enough that if he wanted to, he could reach out and touch him. He didn't even need a purpose, an excuse. He could flatten his entire hand against Reid's face and keep there, and Reid wouldn't say anything. He would let him. But Tyler didn't. He didn't move, because Reid was so close.

His body was heavy. Legs straddled Tyler's, knees supporting his own weight, but not enough as to provide Tyler with an easy escape. It's the air, barely there, that separated their bodies. It hurt and Tyler's hands grasped at his hips. Contact. Barely. The air was suffocating him nearly as much as Reid was.

A tongue darted out and moistened Reid's lips and he shoved another, heavier, breath out of his lungs. "Baby boy." Reid's purr was husky, the pads of his fingers kneaded Tyler's cheeks as Reid's slender hands cradled his counter part's face. To touch so freely was to own. It was how Reid touched his clothes, or how he used his pens without asking, as if they were his own possession. That's what Tyler was, a sweat shirt, or an overused pen, a possession -- his to use. "You've been avoiding me."

"N-no, I haven't," Tyler mumbled. He wanted to look away, and even as he felt the urge, he acknowledged how telling that mere act would be. His eyes remained on Reid's, but he didn't have a choice. He couldn't look away. Reid dragged his fingers across Tyler's face and pressed a thumb against the younger boy's lips. It was a lie. Tyler had been avoiding Reid since the first kiss. Just as well, the look that crossed his face when Reid cornered him always made Reid hard. Tyler was always sore the next day. It was getting harder to conceal Reid's finger shaped bruises on his thighs, his arms, his chin.

"It's okay," Reid breathed against the nape of Tyler's neck. "I forgive you." Hands gripped his hips painfully hard. Lips pressed roughly against his neck. Teeth bit into his flesh hard enough to draw blood and a surprised yelp from the writhing boy beneath him. He was most certainly not forgiven.

Tyler's pained grunts and sharp hisses of pain and discomfort only made Reid bite harder. Tyler's nails sank into Reid's jean clad thighs but he didn't feel it. Tyler's breath was loud in his ear, hot against his own heated flesh.

Even after everything Reid had done to Tyler, the boy remained infinitely innocent. Pure. Hearing the younger boy pant was enough to drive Reid insane with lust. And seeing the boy do unspeakable acts, hesitation always tainting his own sexual desire was beyond words. Nearly as good as the sex itself. He pulled away, just barely, and tenderly licked at the bruised neck, much as a cat would lick at its own wounds. Tyler had already forced himself to relax beneath the blonde. His hands shifted from Reid's legs and disappeared beneath his shirt, the desire to touch suddenly too intense to ignore.

Reid's tongue left his own mouth seconds before he roughly covered Tyler's mouth with his own. Tyler returned his kiss just as hungrily, just as sloppy and rough. Only in the act of kissing did Tyler ever even attempt to battle dominancy. His hand searched clumsily for something he wasn't even aware of needing, as they blindly scoured Reid's chest beneath his shirt. Reid's chest was really beautiful, despite how much Tyler hated the compliment, even inside of his head. The boy was obviously toned, the pale of his chest seemingly glowed. Toned, yet soft beneath his roaming finger tips.

Reid pulled away, ever so briefly, his chest heaving with the weigh of his breathing. He tugged his own shirt off over his head and quickly tossed it away. Pale cheeks were tinged red, blond hair slightly tousled, eyes ablaze with unbidden desire.

Tyler squeezed his eyes shut again after that. In several quick movements, Reid rendered them both naked, heated flesh pressed hard against heated flush. The nips and licks were soft, but Tyler knew the truth. If they were soft, it was more so by default rather than purpose. Reid took him dry, only when he couldn't stand the wait any longer. He didn't even try to muffle Tyler's raw cry of pain. The younger boy arched against him, hands fisting around Reid's biceps, legs weakly held apart.

Tyler would never know how beautiful he looked in that one moment compared to all his other moments in life. He would never understand why Reid couldn't ever go slow, not even in the beginning, not even until the boy managed to force himself to relax. The first thrust was hard, rushed and Tyler cried out again, louder than before. Tears managed to squeeze their way from his clenched eyes. Reid paused before delivering another thrust and earning another cry. It didn't matter how loud he screamed, the house was deserted. Nobody would hear him, nobody except Reid. But it was okay, because Reid wanted to hear him the most.

He didn't notice when his thrusting had sped up, his hands clenched tightly on Tyler's thighs, unnecessarily holding his legs apart. He didn't hear it, the first time the scream died in Tyler's throat, replaced by a quiet rasp of pain. The nips and kisses melted together until Reid's mouth pressed against Tyler's skin, just there. A particularly hard thrust brought another rasp from Tyler, who instinctively tensed up all over again. The sudden pressure proved too much for Reid and he came hard, a long groan falling from his lips before he collapsed onto Tyler.

Tyler was still moving, his body shuddering beneath Reid with every hiccup of his rapidly disappearing sobs. His fingers were still curled around Reid's biceps, still hard enough to bruise. The blonde didn't even attempt to alleviate his weight from Tyler's twitching frame. It felt too nice, just laying there, slightly dazed, Tyler's legs spread and resting gentle against his sides.

It was always in lying there that Reid felt the first pangs of guilt, stabs against his heart that seemed to last longer the more he experienced them. The guilt was why he let Tyler avoid him in the first place, why he didn't just confront the boy every time he got horny; why he was so kind to Tyler afterwards. He didn't know why Tyler still bothered, though. He still expected him to shove him away, every time Reid reached for him. Every time Reid crawled into bed with him at night, he still expected Tyler to blatantly tell him to get lost. He expected the boy to at least flinch away, or glare. He expected the hatred he knew he deserved, but it never came. Tyler never hated him, and Reid couldn't understand it. Because sometimes, when he was alone, he hated himself.

There wasn't anything in him to love, and he couldn't understand what Tyler so desperately clings to. But he wouldn't ever push him away, he wouldn't ever make him go away, because Reid wanted him. He wanted him so badly that he hated what he did to him. Even as he reveled in the boy's tortured cries, Reid hated it. He hated the tears, even as they made him smile. He hated the broken expression carved into Tyler's face for days after sex, but he loved that control he had. He loved knowing that he could make Tyler cry, or grimace, or beg. He loved the power Tyler inadvertently gave him, and it was that Power that kept him from doing what he knew he should do - what any lover would willingly do - the power wouldn't let him walk away from Tyler, and save the boy heartache. He couldn't let him go, even though he knew he should.

"I'm sorry, baby." Words, muffled against sweat slicked skin, managed to pry their way into his dazed brain. He didn't want to hear them, but no matter how hard he squeezed his eyes shut, he couldn't not hear them. The words were worn, beaten, suddenly so very fragile. And the way Reid's voice, softer than usual, broken, caressed the damaged words could have been beautiful, given any other circumstance.

"I know," Tyler mumbled tiredly. His hands slowly uncurled, stiff and pained, from around Reid's biceps. His arms shifted, agonizingly slow, until they were wrapped around Reid, holding the boy closer. He knew Reid was sorry. Right now. At this present moment in time. Sorry, but satisfied. He also knew what would happen once that satisfaction dried up.

"I'm sorry too."


	7. Physicality

**Pairing**: Chase/Tyler. Requested from (and dedicated to) my new besitie - Mizu. I hope it doesn't suck… ^_^ And sorry it's taken so long…it's your fault and your damn Rping…:P

**Warning**: SEX. Used-to-be and yet-not-quite RAPE. Manipulation. Chase being Chase. And Tyler being Tyler. And peeping Reid - though that's never directly stated.. Language. I've been reading Anita Blake, so if you see some similarities…that's probably why. (Like Tyler being trained not to cum, I got that specifically from Nathaniel, who I love). I also apologize, because in the beginning, it was just supposed to be about sex and I turned it into something serious - which I hadn't meant to do.

**Rating**: M. You have been warned.

**Note**: I've been trying to write this idea for roughly a week, or two. But I got this new idea while I was trying not to wake up one morning. The story is the exact same as it was before. Except suddenly - it's seen through a third party's eyes. One Reid Garwin. I'd appreciate feed back. I know Reid seems out of character. I'm just trying to change the mold everybody assumes Reid fits.

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"_Baby Boy_."

The name had started out in endearment, spoken first by my own mother, twisted and distorted with concern most parents can't even muster for their own kids. I abused the name every chance I got, choosing to ignore the faces Tyler made. I knew it hurt him, but acted like I didn't just so I could claim ignorance later. I fixed it. Eventually. I slowly saw exactly what my mother had always seen in Tyler. Band-Aids can only hide his scars for so long, before the bandage becomes encrusted, worn out and feeble. The words sounded different in Chase's mouth, twisted. Broken. Distorted, and yet there was also something else there. Hunger. Lust. Desire. Need. Want. S.E.X. That's what it sounded like, smoothed over in Chase's voice. Tyler's childhood nickname sounded like sex. And it made him freeze up in fear.

Tyler turned around because the thought of what Chase could do behind his back made him tremble. "It's only been a few days," he almost whined. I'd heard that whine before. When we were younger and I pushed Tyler to do things I knew he didn't want to just because I knew he wouldn't say no. Tyler never said no. And even as he tried to convince me to let it go, his voice hadn't ever twisted - not like that.

"Apprehension looks good on you," Chase said. He approached Tyler in much the same way that a lion would approach an injured deer. The lion already knew his prey was ensured. He'd already won, and yet he moved slowly, stealthily even though he was in plain view of his prey. He still put on the show, even though he reigned superior. It was just an act….

The dorm room was empty. I wasn't supposed to be here. And I guess in a way, I really wasn't. Without physical manifestation, would anyone really exist? That's what makes it so much easier to challenge miracles and god and faith. Because if they existed, they would impact something, anything - physically. The world is physical proof of god, that's the argument they've got. I know different, but that knowledge doesn't do shit for me, because it's mental and not physical. Knowledge can only go so far, and it means nothing when it's locked inside of your head. That's what I was right now - locked inside of Tyler's head.

"Chase." The name made his voice shake. Images exploded in front of Tyler's eyes, and I wanted to flinch at the intensity of it all. But I couldn't, because Tyler didn't. He remained stoic, even as he trembled. Memories began and ended as Tyler stared at Chase, as if they were sped up - like a DVD, as if he were just fast forwarding through the boring parts. A porno that had too much talking in it. Except that's all these memories were - it's what Tyler was looking for. He wanted the talking and all the other parts made him cringe. But the memories had to be old, frequently watched, because they no longer affected Tyler. He licked his lips, chapped and well bitten. "Reid -"

"Won't be back tonight," Chase interrupted. He lifted a hand and caressed Tyler's cheek softly, mockingly affectionate. Tyler didn't move away, not like I wanted to. That response had already been beaten out of him. And I felt it all, more than I saw it. More memories. Tyler's face pressed hard into the ground under him, metal that Chase didn't really need biting into his wrists, his shoulders shaking with tremors at the strain of it all. Marks I'd never seen carved deep into the skin of Tyler's back, his butt, his thighs. Blood running down his skin, replacing the tanned tint he'd had for as long as I could remember with a darker shade of red, turning the ground beneath him red. Thick enough to make puddles and bring tears to his eyes. Chase was talking but I couldn't hear him. Tyler couldn't force the words to make sense. The fear was getting to him, more than the memories.

Chase's hand left Tyler's face and dropped away, only to reappear at the bottom of Tyler's shirt. He tugged, insistently, on the material until Tyler obediently pulled it off over his head. He tossed the shirt away, out of harm's way. Chase had already ruined too many shirts. I hadn't noticed how limited Tyler's wardrobe was growing.

Chase's hands touched him, pulled at him, caressed him and Tyler didn't stop him. He should have been modest, but he couldn't manage it. The touches were familiar. He couldn't flinch or shiver or shudder, because the touches were so worn, almost like a second layer of skin - almost like they belonged there. The touches were burned into his mind. He felt them long after Chase had left him. Days after. Weeks. Until Chase came back and seared them into his mind all over again, as if he could ever forget in the first place. Burns upon burns scarred his mind, each distinct and unique. Different, but overlapping each other so thoroughly that they were all the same. One huge burn, marking his mind so completely that sometimes he couldn't even recognize it. Sometimes it wasn't he who owned the marks - his mind - it was Chase.

Those marks weren't good enough for Chase though, even Tyler knew that. Chase could still see them, every flinch, every falter Tyler made, Chase saw the burns; when he obeyed without hesitance or second thought, Chase knew he owned them. It wasn't because he needed to see the marks. He wasn't that insecure - he didn't have to hope they existed, he didn't need the reassurance. It was because he needed everybody else to see them. It hadn't ever been about Chase, not really. It had always been about the everybody else. The people who looked at Tyler and knew something was going on. But they'd never really know. We never really knew, because Tyler won't ever tell. Seeing isn't really knowing - it isn't physical, or even mental. Get it? But all Chase cared about was the seeing - the assumptions everybody made. They weren't ever really close to the truth, though.

Chase walked forward, and Tyler stumbled back. It looked sloppy and sudden, but it was all really a well choreographed danced they always did. Chase backed Tyler up until his knees hit the foot of his bed and he fell back. He made to rise, but a hand, firm and definite, on his thigh stopped all movement. Hands tugged, and pulled in their haste to undress Tyler. Pants, shoes, socks, boxers, it was all forgotten as Chase tossed each article of clothing to the side. And he knelt, on the ground, in between Tyler's legs. Chase's hand pressed against Tyler's thigh once more, holding him down, still, while creating designs in the skin. Tyler's hands clenched at his side, sweaty, clutching helplessly at the blanket beneath him. "Don't move," Chase said before Tyler had even begun to move. It was a little game Chase liked to play. A show of superiority and control. I knew who always ended up losing, because Tyler knew. He didn't ever win because that's not how the game was designed. He was already predisposed to losing. Like fate. And you couldn't ever argue fate, because it was greater than you, and all of this. Chase was greater than us. Final. Lethal. Tyler had learned to not argue with him, so he remained still as told.

Chase's breathe ghosted over Tyler, slow, heated and deliberate. And Tyler was hard, anticipating what he knew always came next - always accompanied the pain. Chase's fingers, taunting and searching at the same time, pressed against Tyler's inner thigh, kneading the skin they found there. Tyler didn't move. Chase stayed, knelt between his limp legs on the ground, his mouth dangerously close to Tyler's precious jewels. A tongue, dry even within his mouth, darted out, almost, tentatively. Tyler jumped at the first touch, even after anticipating it, and squeezed his eyes shut. Behind those eyelids he remembered. The images were jumbled, almost too quick to identify. Images of Chase's face twisting into a pleased smirk, the hand prints, a deeper red than I'd ever seen before, marring Tyler's thighs, his lower stomach, bite marks turned purple and bloody imprinting Tyler's neck and collar bone, his fingers bloody from their grip on the wooden ground, his lips bitten almost all the way through by his own teeth. I almost wondered why Tyler hadn't remembered the sex. It had to be bad, right? If the foreplay was this violent, sex couldn't possibly be better…and then Chase started talking again.

"I told you not to move." His voice was taunting, satisfied, happy even. His kneading on Tyler's thigh turned rough before he lifted his hand altogether and brought it down again, hard. Tyler jerked at the sudden pain, biting his barely healed bottom lip to stifle the yelp. It was defiance - because Tyler knew the yelp always pleased Tyler more than tears, more than the pain, or the sex. All he wanted was Tyler's voice twisted beyond recognition, pleading, begging, pained. Chase's hand massaged the abused flesh of Tyler's inner thigh before he slapped it again. And again. And again, until Tyler yelped loudly. And then, grinning madly, Chase lowered his face to kiss the reddened skin. His lips felt cool against the heated handprints. Tyler liked the touch. He almost let that special word slip past his quivering lips. _Please_. But it was unrecognizable - hidden beneath a heavy sob.

Chase only provided Tyler with pleasure because he liked watching him squirm. That's Tyler's first thought, when Chase lowered his mouth and covered Tyler's hard dick in one move. He liked watching Tyler's body convulse with his own attempts to remain still. Because movement meant disobedience, it meant pain. That's really only pleasure to Chase. Just another word for pain. Another word for hurt, and torture, and control. Pleasure had turned into so many other things, each new word taking bits of Pleasure away, until the word didn't even exist anymore. Until Tyler wasn't sure what Chase was doing to him - because it couldn't be sex, it couldn't be pleasure. It shouldn't feel good…

Chase pulled his mouth back, his tongue dragging roughly against Tyler's dick, firm and commanding. Tyler didn't move, not bodily. His bottom lip quivered, bleeding, caught painfully between his teeth - teeth as ruthless as Chase had ever been. The pain of his bleeding lip was forgotten as Chase's tongue circled the head of his cock. Even his tongue was predatory.

Tyler's head tilted back, tiredly, against the mattress beneath him. He swallowed hard, blood thickened saliva moved sluggishly down his throat, shoving away all the rising moans. Moans were worst than yelps. Yelps were defiant, but moans were encouraging. Chase wanted to hear the sounds, but he wouldn't let Tyler move until they were fucking. It was his own special kind of power. And so he didn't move, he stayed like that. His eyes squeezed shut tightly, mouth twisted into a firm line, teeth barely visible around his bottom lip. Blood pulsed and pooled before gravity dragged the droplets down Tyler's chin and neck. Hands clenched, reaching without ever moving, against the blanket beneath him.

Tyler jumped again when he felt Chase's finger prodding his opening. Chase wasn't trying to prepare him. The concept hadn't ever occurred to Chase before. Preparation lessened the pain, and if not for pain then what was the point of any of this? His finger shoved harder against Tyler, until Tyler forced himself to relax enough for Chase's finger to slip in. He squirmed. And Chase pinched his abused inner thigh with his free hand, mouth never leaving Tyler's dick.

Tyler gasped, hiccupped a half concealed sob. Chase was being deliberately rough, punishing Tyler for something he wasn't sure he even did. But the way Chase's mouth moved, slow, carefully, on his dick was different. It should have felt good, even with the throbbing pain from his thigh and ass. It should have felt good, but Tyler didn't want it to. The mere fact that he managed to get hard at all - with Chase in the room, with the promise of mind numbing pain, made him sick with himself. He should be fighting, but he stayed still. And he wanted to believe it was from fear -and it was. But he feared it was also because of something else. Like pleasure.

Tyler was real close to the edge, a pressure building in his gut. And then he did something I didn't even know was possible. He shoved it back down, and ignored it. He didn't cum. What the fuck? The tension was still there, twisting his stomach into painful knots, like you've been waiting too long to shit and you can feel it in your gut, still there, still impatient - stabbing at you like maybe you'd managed to forget about it. But he managed to just ignore it, even when Chase didn't pull away. His tongue flattened against the head of Tyler's dick, brushing against it in a deliberately taunting way.

The thought flashed across Tyler's mind before I could even come to the conclusion. I know I wouldn't have even if Tyler had given me the time to think about it. Chase was taunting him. Because Chase knew he'd already reached his limit, he knew Tyler wanted to cum, and he was pushing it, seeing how hard he could push before Tyler asked him to stop. Before Tyler begged. And why would he beg for that? Because cumming without permission meant more pain than he wanted. He'd been trained. Like a fucking dog. Even with his eyes squeezed shut, Tyler remembered exactly why he couldn't cum. And that's when I realized to what extents this power could be taken to - how exactly powerful you can be upon ascension. I saw Tyler writhing on the ground, more blood around him than before. Fingers trembling too violently to ever offer comfort clutching his other hand, the blood turning everything red so I couldn't see anything. Still, I knew he was trembling, his sobbing straining painfully against already tired vocal cords - because he'd screamed that time, until his voice cut out. I knew he was holding his hand because Chase had taken punishment to new heights. He'd severed Tyler's fingers for twenty three minutes, providing Tyler with a lecture they both knew he didn't hear, before reattaching the fingers - a process that was purposely just as agonizing as tearing the fingers off had been. And then he crushed the bones in Tyler's hand, without ever touching him - with the power alone. And with that power he organized the bones, rebreaking them just so they'd fit back into their original spot. It was supposed to hurt - hurt in ways we knew healing shouldn't hurt. But Chase only healed him so he could hurt him all over again, leaving those burns on his mind rather than regular wounds. Wounds that were bound to heal. But once they were mental, they couldn't heal. Not really. Because Tyler would always remember. And that is why he shoved away the intense need curling, writhing inside of his gut. Because the pain of needing this release was better than anything else Chase was offering.

Chase pulled away, Tyler knew it was because his mouth had gotten tired, and they'd already established Tyler's obedience. And if he kept it up, Tyler would be too loose - it wouldn't hurt as much as he wanted it to. Tyler used to hope for this, but he already knew that Chase could hurt him in other ways. Sex wasn't ever the worst. It didn't have to hurt to make Tyler dread it.

Chase crawled onto the bed, naked, though I don't remember him ever undressing. I don't remember because Tyler didn't - because Tyler hadn't been watching him. His eyes had been closed. Chase crawled over his body, his trembling body and stopped only once he was straddling Tyler's waist. He slapped Tyler across the face, not as hard as he could, Tyler knew. He opened his eyes because he knew he was supposed to. And Chase kissed Tyler. Tyler tasted himself, his precum, his fear - everything Chase had been eating, consuming hungrily, too eager to care about how vicious he was being. Tyler's jaws moved, his tongue moved against Chase's as he attempted to kiss back. Another thing he did without having to think about it, without having to talk himself into it. Because it could be worst.

Chase gestured, and Tyler dragged himself back across the bed, only until his feet were on the mattress instead of the floor. Rehearsed steps to a dance that shouldn't ever need to be rehearsed. Chase entered Tyler, their mouths once more sealed, his thrust slow and hard at the same time. Tyler grunted in surprise and displeasure, the sound silent against Chase's probing tongue. But lack of noise didn't make it any less existent, because Chase felt it and that made it physical. Real.

Tyler's legs moved, pressed against Chase's side, almost like they fit there - like they'd always fit there, molded to perfection. Chase pulled his head back, lips curving perfectly against Tyler's as he sucked on Tyler's bottom lip. He trailed his tongue down, licking the blood from Tyler's chin and neck. He didn't hold Tyler's arms down, even though Tyler wanted him to. Maybe even because Tyler wanted to. I don't know. The thought was Tyler's, and his mind was muddled, bias. To move meant that you had to - that you had no other choice. If you can walk, you're supposed to work and walk away from trouble. You're just supposed to. But to be unable to walk, it meant that you had no choice. That you had to stay exactly where you were. But Tyler could move away, even when he had the ability to walk. And yet he wasn't held down either. Which meant that he could move away, but he had to force himself not to.

His back arched, not with pleasure, but with something else. He arched closer to Chase, their chests pressed together, motionless despite the sweat eliminating friction. Chase's hands shoved against the mattress on both sides of Tyler's head, their faces real close together. Tyler could taste Chase's breath, inhaling every heavy pant and moan, swallowing it all down. His hands clutched at the blanket, really wanting to clutch at Chase's hair. But he couldn't, because Chase had told him not to. His head pressed harder in the mattress. He wanted to turn away but Chase's hands left no room for that. Instead he closed his eyes, and tried not to tilt his head back. He failed at that.

With each thrust Tyler let out a grunt, sometimes soft, sometimes loud. His grunts conveyed more than he'd like. They meant pain, or pleasure, sometimes he confused the two. They meant helpless, and needing, and wanting without really wanting to want. His lips were parted, even though his teeth were clenched together as if his life depended on it. And sometimes Chase would lean closer, and press his own lips to Tyler's, just to let his own moans vibrate against Tyler's skin. He wasn't ashamed of the pleasure he drew from Tyler.

His thrusting quickened because even as he trained Tyler, he couldn't ignore his own need; he never needed to before. The thrusts turned rough as if he no longer had the time to worry about any of that. As if he ever worried about it before. And Tyler's grunts turned into moans. They both moaned. For different reasons. Chase came, Tyler didn't, even though I could tell he wanted to - even when he hated himself for wanting it. He was so hard it hurt, but he couldn't cum until Chase specifically gave him permission to. Sometimes Chase never did. He just left Tyler like that. Smirking.

Sighing, still unashamed, content even, the weight Chase had been supporting collapsed against Tyler. Chase was still inside of him, no longer hard, but still there. His head laid against Tyler's shoulder because he knew Tyler wouldn't ever hurt him. His lips pressed against the curve of Tyler's neck, kissing and not really kissing at the same time, just there. His breathe hot against the skin of his jaw but Tyler couldn't turn away. He couldn't turn away from Chase's fingers, weakly pressing against his jaw, and his lips - bloody once more. Eventually, Chase's fingers made it up to Tyler's eyes, pressing against the fat trails of tears, smearing the moisture just a little bit. His fingers twitched, and at first it felt like an accident. But no. Chase really was wiping away Tyler's tears, rubbing at his cheeks until they were dry, until Tyler had managed to control his trembling.

I don't know what happened next, because that's when I came back to myself. I was torn from Tyler's head, and I know he felt it too, because he writhed beneath Chase, his gasps and sobs louder than they had been. I came back to myself, hard and violently, recoiling - as if I'd jerked awake from a nightmare, gasping and disoriented. But the nightmare wasn't there, foggy even when I tried to think about it. I remembered it all, everything. And I felt it all. Chase's touches, Tyler's fear, I felt it even when I knew it wasn't real. Even though I wanted it to be a dream. It all exists. Because it was all physical. And that's all that ever matters. Physicality. That's all they care about.


	8. Loss

Pairing: Aaron/Tyler

Warning: Sex. One sided. Nonconsensual. Rape. Violence. Pain. Shattering of innocence. Because of Audrey, I was inspired to finish the chapter and post it. But my muse is pretty much dead. So, sorry for the delays in everything. Still -- no Pogue. .

A/N: And, I started writing this before I'd written the 'need' chapter, so if you notice the similarities, it's because I was writing the chapters at the same time. I got distracted with other stories, and rping, which is why this chapter is so late compared to the other one. Please Review.

A/N 2: I've been reading Anita Blake. And she has sort of become this kind of sexbot. Weird, right? Because I thought I love sex fiction XD. It took a really long time for me to realize that if not written correctly, sex scenes can suck so much worst. They can destroy books - especially when written in such quantities as Anita Blake. This whole fic for me is sex I couldn't add to other fics without disrupting the plot (maybe LKH should take a chapter from my common sense book…) If, and when my huge quantity of sex begins to annoy you or sound repetitive - do tell me. Because I don't believe writing sex is edgy. EVERYTHING has sex in it. And it has violence and blood. I don't write this to be edgy. I write it because this is what inspires me when I've hit a road block. I write it because this is what I like to read. My writing has never had anything to do with edge. Even if most of it is borderline rape between homosexual boys…You should write to write - not to be edgy. Because the radical of one generation can be the conservative of the next, and edge is subjective. So…please enjoy…but tell me if it sucks. Because I want to know. I, unlike some particular authors, care what my readers want.

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Fingers curled around defined hips and gripped them hard. Tyler's back scrapped against the carpet as he was pulled closer, beneath a heavier body. Tyler's hands pressed against the hard chest and his arms shook with the effort. Aaron's legs, strong from years of swimming and track, pinned Tyler to the ground. Tyler's squirming was doing a great deal more than he knew. "Quit it," Tyler panted out. "I said no. Get off."

Aaron slapped Tyler's hands aside and shoved him against the ground. "No," he whispered against the skin of Tyler's neck. Tyler squirmed uncomfortably as Aaron's tongue pressed firmly against the pressure point on his neck. Aaron was supposed to be different, that was the basis of this whole relationship. It was all supposed to be a secret, they both agreed. Aaron was careful to treat Tyler the exact same as he always had before. He made sure he insulted Tyler just as often as he did Reid. But in secrecy, in silence and shadows, Aaron was **supposed **to be different. He was supposed to be gentle, Tyler knew. His lips were soft, his teeth never bruised. His hands, calloused fingers, always curled around Tyler's hips, but never hard enough to hurt. Or maybe it always hurt, but the pleasure Tyler derived from the older boy just obliterated the pain. Maybe Aaron hadn't ever been different and never changed. Maybe Tyler was just waking up, just realizing that he'd been fooling himself the entire relationship. Two months. He'd just been blind, blissfully blind - willfully blind. Aaron was not different. He was the same he'd always been. Cruel, selfish, but above all else - lethal.

Aaron's teeth bit into his neck, soft at first, gradually he applied more pressure until Tyler split his lip in an attempt to conceal his yelp. Blood filled his mouth and he swallowed hard. Aaron licked tenderly at the bruise, until the blood had smeared and his teeth marks shone bright against the bronze skin. Tyler's hands curled around Aaron's arms, but he wasn't strong enough, his nails weren't long enough, to have any effect on the older boy. "Aaron -"

"Don't talk," Aaron ordered, his voice unusually quiet, calm. To emphasize his request, he pressed his lips against Tyler's. Hard and controlling. The kiss wasn't anything like the ones they'd shared before. Aaron's fingers curled around Tyler's jaw and squeezed until he managed to force the mouth open. He did notice that the kiss wasn't as good as it was when Tyler kissed him back, but he was horny as fuck, and at the moment, the alcohol had burned away his concern for the younger boy. It'd been two months and he was horny. And then there were all those financial problems with his father…but no, Aaron wasn't going to think about that right now.

Tyler's body heaved beneath him as he struggled. Aaron pulled away and Tyler sucked in a mouthful of air His hair was messy, gel-less and dry, his cheeks were tinged red and his body continuously shifted beneath Aaron's in his attempt to steady his breathing. Aaron smiled at him, trailing kisses along Tyler's jaw, softer now. "Aaron, please -"

"Shhh," Aaron hissed against Tyler's neck. "You know how to be quiet, baby boy." His teeth caught Tyler's earlobe and he slowly sucked on it. "I've wanted to taste you for…" He licked a long patch of skin up Tyler's neck. "So long."

"I don't want -"

"I won't tell you to _**shut up **_again," Aaron growled against Tyler's bruising neck.

"But -"

The punch was fast and hard and Tyler's head snapped to the side with a soft 'oomph'. "This doesn't have to hurt, baby boy." His hands cupped Tyler's face, suddenly soft again. The pad of his thumb pressed gently against Tyler's reddening cheek. "I don't want to hurt you, Tyler. I just want to get what I deserve."

"You better kill me," Tyler hissed, shoving away Aaron's comforting hands. "Or you will get what you deserve."

"Tyler," Aaron tsked disapprovingly. "You can't be a fucking virgin. Not with Garwin hanging on you like he --"

"Shut up," Tyler snapped, jerking his head out of Aaron's persistent grasp. "Don't talk about him." Tyler had already risked his relationship with Reid, because he couldn't turn on and off his hatred quite like Aaron could. Reid was already suspicious. Tyler could feel the very momentum of change occurring and he wanted to cling to all he'd ever done until his fingers bled from the hold. He wouldn't be able to hold them both, he knew. They were opposing forces - two obtrusive magnets. And he'd turned away from Reid, briefly, to hold Aaron. That's when the change would happen, he knew. He just didn't know that Aaron would be the one changing - even while he held onto him. He always thought it would be Reid. Because he wasn't looking. But he was wrong. Aaron had changed right before his eyes. He'd been looking and he still missed it all.

Aaron's face screwed up in an ugly scowl Tyler hadn't seen over the past few months. Instead of physically hurting Tyler, like he wanted to, he tugged at the bottom of his shirt until he managed to force it over his head and toss it to the side. "Aaron, stop," Tyler gasped. Aaron was suddenly so heavy, pressed down so much harder on him and he couldn't breathe. "Please -"

Aaron violently swatted away Tyler's offending hands before tugging at the button of his jeans. "Just shut up. I'll go easy on you. Just let me do this, Tyler." The need managed to worm its way into Aaron's voice and Tyler paused in his struggling. Aaron's eyes were different, softer. Change. Again.

"Aaron --"

"Please." Aaron pressed his mouth against Tyler's reddened cheek and gave him a soft kiss. "I'll be gentle, I promise."

Tyler swallowed hard. Because he knew he wasn't going to stop Aaron. He wouldn't say 'Yes, sure, have your way with me'. But he wouldn't say no again. And wasn't that just as bad as consenting to rape? Aaron's voice had been soft, borderline pleading. Aaron knew it spoke to a part of Tyler. A specific part necessary to force the youngest son of Ipswich into saying yes.

Tyler turned his head away, setting fixed eyes on the wall across the room. Your mind is supposed to shut down when faced with trauma. When something happens, something you can't handle, your mind is supposed to refuse it. Just not see, not feel it. Just block it out completely. It's supposed to save you - preserve your sense of self.

Vaguely, Tyler felt Aaron undress. He felt Aaron pull at his clothes, no longer rough, but far from gentle. The jig was up, as they say. Aaron no longer had to fake it. He didn't have to be somebody else - Tyler would never ask this of him. Tyler would never ask it of anyone.

He felt everything in suspended motion - like running in water. Aaron even used lubrication. The fact that he'd thought to bring lubrication spoke volumes about him. It meant that Aaron had always intended to do this. Had he always carried lube and just never got around to using it? Or had he planned for this moment in time specifically? Had he planned for everything? Except Tyler's reluctance. Is that what Tyler wasn't supposed to be - just an easy lay? But Tyler had unwittingly turned it into a game. Tyler didn't want to have sex the first date. Or any date after that. Tyler had been scared. Aaron, as the boyfriend, was supposed to accept that - not lie in wait.

Aaron's fingers were probing, gently stretching Tyler. And they made Tyler squirm. Uncomfortable at first, before the pain began. Pain that forced hurt sounds from Tyler's lips. He didn't try to conceal them. He didn't care. But Aaron stretched him. Until the pain was nothing more than a forever present dull ache. Then Aaron pressed his lips to Tyler's and swallowed Tyler's scream as he thrust into him. It was a loud scream, even while silenced, that ate away at Aaron's air reserves and left him gasping. His body convulsed against Tyler's, and he pulled away only when Tyler had fallen silent. Still, beneath his body.

The thrusts were too numerous to recall each one. But his mind didn't do a very good job at blocking out his trauma. Tyler could feel the obstructive organ moving in and out of him. His innards were inflamed, and it burned. It made his back arch, lifting his spine from the carpet, pressing his chest against Aaron's. Each thrust brought a sound from Tyler's lips. A whimper, a yelp, a sob, and all the in-betweens. He was reacting. Which meant he felt it. All of it. Everything Aaron was doing to him. He felt the lips moving against his neck, his shoulder. Biting and gnawing and nibbling.

His hands moved too. Roaming along Tyler's ribs, caress his thighs, grabbling at his hips. Tyler's head tilted back against the carpet, his eyes screwed shut. His hands lay limp at his side, against the carpet. He was already sweating, previously dry hair matted to his forehead. Aaron tasted salt on his tongue, and blood. And when he lifted his head, he saw the tears shining against Tyler's cheeks. The tears left tracks in the sweat.

Tyler Simms was crying. Aaron hadn't ever seem him cry before. Tyler always seemed so far removed from everything. Not quite the tough of Reid, but untouchable nonetheless. He wouldn't cry unless he was emotionally connected to something, and it hadn't ever occurred to Aaron before. Tyler was emotionally connected to him. He was hurting Tyler. Not just physically, but the emotional betrayal was far more severe . Aaron closed his eyes because he didn't want to see it. With his eyes shut, it was easier to be cruel. He didn't have to see that broken look splayed across Tyler's face. It was easier to bite into the skin beneath his lips. The sounds that escaped Tyler was arousing. As long as he didn't have to see the pained look that accompanied him.

The semen did nothing more than ignite the burning fire already inside of Tyler. But with his release, Aaron did have the decency to pull out. He even had the decency to get up and leave. Perhaps he knew Tyler better than Tyler had thought. Tyler didn't want to be coddled by a boy he thought he loved - by a boy who had all but raped him. He didn't want to be coddled at all. He remained on the ground, mind blank, staring emptily at the wall. His thighs were wet with blood and semen. He could feel the spit and sweat and tears drying on his skin. The throb of his cheek, just beginning to swell. The pulsing bite marks, along his neck and shoulder, checkered across his upper chest - bites he couldn't even remember receiving. Finger shaped bruises made his hips ache when he shifted. His thighs hurt too, but he couldn't remember why. All the pain seemed little - compared to what had just happened. But it was all he could think about.

"Tyler?" The concern was evident. Audible. Tyler flinched away. A whole minute elapsed before his vision cleared - before he saw that familiar face. The hurt visible, bared for him to see.

"Reid?" His throat trembled with use. It hurt, as if he'd been screaming. He didn't remember screaming. He sounded broken. His voice didn't lie. It'd take too much effort. How long could he have been laying there, if Reid had thought to come and find him?

Reid smiled, a sad sort of smile that looked out of place on his face. His hands lowered to cup Tyler's face. Tyler remained still beneath his touch. "I'm sorry," Reid said in a controlled whisper. His voice trembled with pent up anger.

Tyler shook his head and moaned. Moving pulled his skin taunt. And that hurt too. Reid's smile was watery. "Don't," Tyler said when he saw that look on Reid's face. It was the look he always got when he intended to do something permanent. Like murder. "Don't do anything, Reid." With effort and strain, Tyler lifted a hand to touch Reid. He curled his fingers around Reid's wrist. "I don't want to be alone."

And what did that mean? It meant he didn't want to be alone right now - in this given situation. He wanted comfort, as all humans did. He wanted comfort from his best friend because he'd just suffered a great lost. But it meant that by gaining revenge, Reid would be leaving him too. Because murder destroyed people. Vengeance tore people apart. And Tyler didn't want to be alone. Not now. Not ever.


	9. Addicted

He could feel it bubbling up beneath the surface. Anger. It was enough to drive him insane. He tried to stop it, to just not be mad. To cut it off before it got too much. But he couldn't. His eyes melted black of their own accord. "Reid. Ouch. Reid, let go." In the back of his mind, Reid knew Tyler was struggling against him. He knew he had the boy pinned against the wall, he knew that was a grimace of pain flickering across his face. But as much as he knew, he couldn't gage his anger, he knew he couldn't stop. He couldn't not hurt Tyler. It was inevitable. Destiny.

His hands tightened around Tyler's biceps and he slammed the boy back into the wall again. "Quit being such a bitch, Ty," he growled. His voice was distorted, destroyed by the accumulating rage. And for a minute, just a minute, Tyler heard his own father. He recoiled, as if he'd been hit. But Reid didn't see the reaction, his eyes were blackened. The darkness was creeping in on the corners of his vision, and he couldn't see.

Reid shoved his knee in between Tyler's legs, until it touched the wall. And something else that was more important to Tyler than the wall. A touch that made Tyler squirm and tremble with the urge to beg Reid to let up. Even though he knew Reid wouldn't. "Get off," Tyler ground out. "I'm not playing, Reid, I'll --"

"You'll what?" Reid demanded. But Tyler remained silent. He remained silent and he waited. Because surely the anger would pass. Reid would grow tired, weary, and move away. He'd collapse onto his bed and pass out. He wouldn't fall asleep - he'd pass out, too weak to stay away. He'd wake up several times during the night, shuddering and groaning - the pain too great to sleep through. And even as he slept, the moans would continue on. He'd clench his teeth, lock his jaws and curl possessively over his stomach, like it were just a set of cracked ribs or a stomach flu. Like this kind of sickness had an actual location - an actual starting point. An infected area.

But Reid was addicted. And the addiction didn't have an infected area. _Everything _was infected. It wasn't a bruise, or a cracked egg in a carton of a dozen. It was a dozen cracked eggs. Reid was that cracked egg. And he was shattering - so completely that the bits and pieces left of him were already too small to repair. Too broken to be fixed. Reid was dying, and Tyler couldn't stop him. Instead, all he could do was lean back against this wall and wait for Reid to stop hurting him.

"I'll let go," Tyler said softly, his words nearly silent, cracking beneath the lack of will to say what he need to say. He didn't want to talk and that lack of want made it hurt. Another pain with no infected area. "I'll let you go, Reid. I swear to God," he said, lifting big blue eyes to stare appealingly up at Reid. He shoved at Reid's chest but the blonde still wasn't giving so Tyler stopped trying. "I've been holding on to you so tightly I can feel my fingers starting to bleed," he went on. "I can feel the nail and skin tear away as I struggle for a grip. As I feel you pull away further, harder, faster." The blue eyes glimmered with the forever reluctant tears. He would shed them this time, he knew.

"You're dying, Reid," Tyler mumbled. He sounded ashamed, shy, unwilling, yet he never looked away and Reid remained motionlessly bewitched by his speech. "And you pull away from me - far enough to make me feel alone, all the time. But never far enough to save me from your death. From my death. You're dying, and you're fucking wielding it like a weapon. And you don't care. You see me bleeding, and crying, and dying right beside you. And you don't care anymore."

Tyler shoved at Reid's chest again, his movement jerky with emotion and Reid relented, moving back and letting Tyler stand on his own. "I'll be back for my stuff," Tyler mumbled before darting around Reid and out of the door. Such a simple solution had hid from him for so long. He hadn't wanted to leave Reid. He'd been content with dying, but it was the watching Reid die that got to him. As Reid laid immobile to lift a finger. It was watching the chunks chip away from Reid - watching his best friend decay right in front of him. Reid was gone - he'd been gone for a long time, Tyler just kept staring after him. Staring so fervently that sometimes it was like he hadn't ever left.

But Reid was gone. He had to be. Reid Garwin would've never hurt Tyler. Never laugh at him, or eagerly watch him squirm. Or lash out at him every time he got angry. The real Reid would've protected Tyler. The real Reid would've remained sober - he would've stopped when Tyler asked him to - especially upon realizing that he put all those bruises on Tyler's face. The real Reid wouldn't have died - not if it killed Tyler too. He would've lived for Tyler, but it was too late now.

Things had changed, and Tyler was too busy willing them to remain the same to notice that sudden yet inevitable change. Someone had died. And the other was left wanting in the motivation to remain living without his other half.


	10. Inhibitions

A/N: ….I'm not dead. I've been rping covenant shaped angst for a while now and I've been majorly slacking on my writing. Which is just plain horrid, I know. But I've created two brand new Death Note fics. And my ability to write made me giddy. Which is why I'm rebooting my covenant writing. I'm gonna start with something simple - like a one shot. And then hopefully regain the ability to delve back into my plots. I do take requests for these one shots. Actually requests help a lot. All of these one shots are slash not because I detest straight couples, but because I detest the females in the covenant.

This was a one shot I wrote for LJ's round of kinks. So sorry if you've already read it, because I posed it back in June, but I want to flush out all of my remaining Covenant one shots before starting from scratch.

----

**Title**: Without Inhibitions.

**Author**: Kermitfries

**Fandom**: The Covenant

**Pairing/character**: Caleb Danvers/Tyler Simms

**Rating**: I forgot the ratings used so - Not Worksafe. Pretty much NC-17.

**Prompt**: "You have the most amazing eyes, baby boy, you know."

"Caleb, you're drunk."

**Prompter**: Mitsuki_Shizuka

**Kink**: Drunken sex/first time

**Word count:** 1419 including header.

**Notes/Warnings**: Slash. Drunken sex. There was no beta so all the mistakes are my own. Never before would have dreamed of concluding a one shot without finishing the sex…but there's a first for everything. I'm not sure if I like it much, but maybe you will, so please enjoy..

"You know what, baby boy?" Caleb Danvers drawled. "You have the most amazing eyes." He leaned forward with his announcement, and lifted a hand, maybe to see if perhaps Tyler's eyes felt as amazing as they looked.

Tyler evaded his touch easily. "You're drunk, Caleb," he said, as though the statement could do anything for either of them. He caught Caleb's outstretched hand when Caleb reached a second time.

"No," Caleb scoffed dismissively. "I jus' 'ad a little bit." He held up his thumb and forefinger to show just how little he'd drunk. No space separated the two appendages, and Tyler wondered if maybe that had been on purpose.

"Uh huh," Tyler said just as dismissively. "Right, well, c'mon, Cay, let's get you --" he paused when Caleb clumsily threw his arm around Tyler's shoulder, the force nearly knocking them both to the ground.

"Your voice's almost as pretty as your eyes," Caleb informed Tyler. His speech wasn't slurred, just slow, as if Caleb were thinking deliberately about each word he said. But he couldn't be thinking, or else he wouldn't really be saying these words. "You should talk more."

"---Home."

Sneaking Caleb into his own house was unnecessary. His mother was home, but she'd probably already passed out. It was the stairs that proved difficult. Caleb kept over stepping. Each time he missed a step, he'd fall, forcefully taking Tyler down with him, regardless of how adamantly Tyler struggled. And then each time, Tyler would have to pick them both right back up and Caleb would coo, 'wow, you're strong,' into Tyler's ear. And giggle, like a school girl, at the responsive blush.

Once in his room, Caleb fell onto the bed. The arm still around Tyler's neck brought Tyler down with him. And they both just laid there, breathing hard from the ridiculous amount of effort they'd just exerted.

Tyler didn't acknowledge Caleb's movement, not until he felt Caleb's weight settle against him; until he felt Caleb's lips on his neck and face and then finally his own lips. Caleb bit at his lips and Tyler opened his mouth. Caleb's tongue was clumsy and probing; the kiss was sloppy and wet. There was nothing romantic or earth shattering about this kiss. All that mattered was what it was…a kiss. On his lips. And everything that kiss signified but couldn't ever accomplish. A sloppy, wet, pathetically clumsy kiss that signified beauty and lust and years of restrained anguish.

Tyler found himself returning the kiss eagerly, even though he knew Caleb was just horny because he was drunk, and Tyler was conveniently close, within fucking distance. That's all it was, because it couldn't be anything else.

Caleb's hands splayed across Tyler's chest and then lowered, hurried in their clumsy search. "Take off --" Caleb panted into his kiss. "I want to fuck you. Take off your pants."

Tyler smiled despite himself, his cheeks a painfully hot red. Caleb hadn't ever been so blunt, not with something like this. Sex. Not that Tyler knew. Tyler had imagined Caleb would hold sex as something serious and life-altering. Not to be done casually, or with alcohol induced clumsy hands. "You're drunk, Caleb," he repeated. Caleb was kissing him while his hands fumbled with Tyler's jeans. But the jeans weren't cooperating. "We can't have sex - not when you're --"

"Shhh," Caleb shushed, pressing his lips against Tyler's and silencing him. "None o' that." Frustrated with the unyielding button, he shoved Tyler's t-shirt up. "I want to see you strip for me," he announced in a breathy whisper against Tyler's lips, hands abrasively exploring his bare chest. "But not tonight. Tonight, we fuck. Take off you pants and -- and my pants."

In spite of himself, Tyler obediently unbuttoned his jeans and wiggled free of the confining material. He tugged off his t-shirt and Caleb went back to kissing him, any skin he could reach. Tyler's fingers moved to unbutton Caleb's jeans while Caleb sucked diligently at his neck. Every few seconds, Caleb's teeth would scrape against the bruised flesh and Tyler would jerk. He received that very un-caleb-like giggle every time. Caleb sounded so gleeful, so happy. It was unnerving and it was beautiful and it was making Tyler hard.

There was a sort of buzz to their movements, a rush, as if they both feared the realization that undoubtedly would come with their inevitable sobriety. Caleb left dark bruises across the bronze of Tyler's chest at irregular intervals. Tyler's nails bit into Caleb's suddenly bare shoulders. Their clothes seemed to merely melt away, their hands too quick with their actions for their sluggish minds to process. They were naked, and Tyler wasn't blushing anymore.

"Caleb," he gasped suddenly. Caleb didn't pause in his marking. "I've never done this --" Tyler groaned, his voice deepened with desire.

"You're a virgin," Caleb said, his lips moving against Tyler's spit-slick skin, muffled but so very loud in the room. His teeth snapped shut, nipping at an already tender bruise. The sharp intake of breath was enough to force forth an unashamed groan from Caleb. "That's adorable."

Tyler would have rolled his eyes, but Caleb's mouth was lowering, teeth nipping across his squirming stomach, and his eyes were too busy fluttering, he couldn't roll them. "It's okay," Caleb assured Tyler. His fingers lowered, stroking Tyler's inner thighs, urging his legs wider instead of moving them himself. Tyler proved compliant, as usual.

He remained still beneath Caleb and watched the older boy withdraw the lube from beneath his mattress. Caleb coated his fingers and eased one inside of Tyler. Although Caleb was being gentle, Tyler still gasped at the inevitable pain that accompanied violation. Suddenly, this drunken Caleb seemed to have unlimited patience. He waited until all traces of pain were erased from Tyler's face before adding a second finger, and proceeded to do the same before adding a third.

Tyler's fingers drew blood, digging viciously into Caleb's shoulders, when Caleb removed his fingers to replace them with something much bigger. Caleb was a gentleman about it - a tendency that persevered even while intoxicated. He cooed reassurance into Tyler's ear, and could practically feel the younger boy relax completely beneath him, despite his blatant discomfort.

It only took a few thrusts for Caleb to hit Tyler's prostate. He saw stars and dimly realized that Caleb was extremely familiar with all of this. Not just sex, but -- but this sex. Caleb's body covered Tyler's completely, and Tyler's arm wound around Caleb's neck, almost clinging, forcing Caleb to remain close, as if the boy would even dream of straying.

Their lips met again, in a blind rush of lust, kissing and biting hard enough to hurt, but the pain never reached them. The touches and kisses and bites were lost in the rush of the sex; each time Tyler's prostate was hit with the drunken force, he was sent reeling, struggling to gather his bearings without really caring to. This sex left him floating, not quite touching anything, as Caleb's body rocked against his, as Caleb's fingers touched him - sending their own electricity humming across his overheated flesh. He was formless, weightless, satisfied even though he hadn't cum yet. Satisfied within the act without the aide of a conclusion - the inevitable conclusion. Satisfied with Caleb's touches, and that whispered word in his ear, in his head._ Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck._

Fuck.


End file.
